


Descending

by Trash



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Drugs depression and rock and roll, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: Dan and Kyle go to a wedding.
Relationships: Kyle Simmons/Dan Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Descending

“They don’t work,” Dan says.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks, babe. It’ll get better,” Kyle tells him, gently.

Fluoxetine, Citalopram, Sertraline. Vitamin boosters, meditation. No alcohol, no drugs. None of it changes anything. Only real difference is that his while life feels the way it must feel to be a spider trapped under a glass.

“I feel far away,” Dan says.

“You shouldn’t just stop,” Kyle says. “That’s what thy say, isn’t it? You should talk to the doctor before you do it.”

“I will,” says Dan. He doesn’t. And if Kyle knows he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything when Dan starts smoking again, when he picks up where he left off with people he had little to nothing in common with beyond a shared appreciation for class A drugs.

Dan comes home so late one night it’s the morning. 3am. And he staggers around trying to be quiet but manages to wake Kyle up, anyway.

“Need a hand?” He guides Dan onto the couch and kneels in front of him to untie his shoes.

“Can manage,” Dan slurs, half-heartedly batting at Kyle’s hand.

“Can you?” Kyle asks, eyebrows raised. He lets Dan have a good go at getting his hand-eye coordination into gear before taking over again.

“Don’t you care where I’ve been all night?”

Kyle sits back on his heels. “Would you tell me even if I asked?”

Probably not. Dan has really bad cotton mouth until he doesn’t. That too-much-saliva moment. He leaps to his feet and legs it to the bathroom. He falls to his knees in front of the toilet in time to throw up so hard he sees stars. He’s still retching over the bowl when Kyle perches on the edge of the bath, offering out a glass of water.

“Of course I care,” he says. “But what do you want me to do? Sit around making myself feel shit about it? As if I don’t already feel like a prize prick for not being able to help you.”

Dan feels tears rise hot in his throat and he laughs as they fall from his eyes. He half-sobs-half-laughs, wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “God,” he says. “It’s been fucking ages since I cried. The meds made me numb.”

Kyle smiles, strokes his hair. “Yeah,” he says. “I know they did.”

They stopped talking about it after that. It still happened. Dan frequently came home at the arse crack of dawn and spent the entire day in bed coming down. 

He’d send desperate messages to Kyle from club bathrooms. “I love you,” they all said, “I’m sorry.”

And Kyle would reply, “It’s okay. I love you too.”

For the most part, Dan manages to keep it together around Kyle and the band. If they’re performing he sticks to his age-old ritual of a bong in the dressing room before they go on. He drinks when the rest of them do, never gets so intoxicated that it’s an issue.

But he looks thoroughly wrecked. He can see it in his own eyes. Knows Kyle sees it too.

They don’t talk about it.

Then the wedding. Mutual friends who came to see Bastille when nobody else did. Dan considers declining, but Kyle really wants to go and Dan wants an opportunity to perve on him in a suit. And it’s expected that you get bladdered at a wedding. It would be bad craic not to.

When they get to the reception Dan grabs two Champagne flutes, holds one out for Kyle. Touches the glasses together in a toast, saying, “Sham pain for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends.” He tosses the Champagne back and grabs another from a passing server.

Kyle smiles and Dan is suddenly acutely aware of the weight of himself. It’s sudden, the realisation that he is difficult. A burden. Not like he’s never thought this before, but it floods back to him and he grips his glass. “You look lovely,” he says.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“I’m not going to…you don’t need to worry about me tonight, okay? I’m not a liability.”

“I think the lady doth protest too much,” says Kyle. Dan’s face must fall because he slides his free arm around his waist and squeezes lightly. “I’m joking,” he says, presses a kiss to Dan’s cheek. “I’m sorry. That was. I know you’re not a liability, but I’m still worried. About you, in general. If it gets too much just say the safe word and I’ll get us an Uber straight away, okay?”

Dan feels warm all over, leans in to the cuddle. 

He gives Kyle some space to catch up with people Dan doesn’t know, steps outside for a cigarette. He’s standing with a cigarette in his mouth, patting his pockets for a lighter when Olivia sidles up beside him, holding one out to light it for him.

“You total babe,” he says, exhaling and passing it back.

She lights her own and shivers, wraps her arms around herself for warmth. “You’re welcome. I love weddings but..” she trails off, taps ash from the end of her cigarette.

Dan nods. “I know.”

“They’re already all asking her when she’s going to have a baby. She’s still in her ten grand wedding dress, so I’m guessing not right now?”

“Yeah. Marriage? Completed it, mate. Time to level up and support overpopulation.”

Olivia snorts. 

“People keep telling me and Kyle we would make good parents, as if I didn’t pick mould off the bread this morning because I couldn’t be arsed to go to the shop.”

“My mum always tells me I’d be a good mum. As if I don’t have narcotics in my bag.”

Dan flicks his dead cigarette away and turns to her. “What kind of narcotics?”

They hide under a fire escape behind the kitchen and do a bump of coke each. Olivia sniffs hard and looks up at the clear sky. The stars, the moon. “Where does the moon during the day?” she asks.

“Who gets married in fucking February?” Dan asks, huffing on his hands.

“We should go back inside. Be social butterflies, you know?” Olivia links her arm with Dan’s and leads him back indoors. 

He finds Kyle at the edge of the dance floor as a crowd gathers for the first dance. Kyle leans in, shouting to be heard over the music. “So glad it’s not some slow, moany shite.”

Dan nods. He can feel the music, feel the beat in his heart. Realistically it’s probably just the coke. He lets the music lead him, starts dancing. He reaches out for Kyle’s hand to spin him round only to have it snatched away. “Eh?”

“This isn’t the Dan and Kyle show.”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t…I really didn’t mean to…”

Kyle hands his drink to the girl next to him and turns away, pushing his way through the crowd. Dan follows, trying to control his breathing. He hasn’t eaten, and the cocaine-Champagne cocktail is not sitting well in his empty stomach.

He catches sight of Kyle ducking outside and follows, grabs his hand to stop him. “Kyle.”

“Stop making everything all about you,” Kyle snaps. “You’re not always the problem, Dan.”

“So what is then? I just wanted to dance with my fucking boyfriend.”

“People were already taking photos of us as if we were the ones getting married. All night we’ve been accidentally stealing the spotlight. I didn’t want to do it anymore.” He runs a hand through his hair, sighs. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m just…tense.”

“Olivia has something to help with that,” Dan smiles.

Kyle laughs. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

Dan bristles. “Hey, it’s not like I asked for it.”

“I know. Sorry. I feel like we’re on a tightrope.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, “me too.”

They stand side by side, listening to the music and laughter inside. It jars against Dan’s thoughts, of being too much and getting left behind again. “You don’t have to wait for me to say it.”

“What?”

“The safe word.”

“Oh. Right. Well. Casserole.”

Dan pulls out his phone and orders an Uber. “Five minutes,” he says.

“I love you,” Kyle tells the stars.

And Dan smiles, blushing. “Love you too.”


End file.
